30 Days (Kind of) to Fall in Love

The prompt is inspired by ericandy's 30 day OTP challenge on Tumblr.

AN: Wow, so let's just say that these last few weeks have been absolutely insane! I've started student teaching and that plus driving an hour each way is quite taxing. To be fair, sneaking Sherlock references into my lectures is quiet fun (nothing like saying that Circe asked Odysseus to "have dinner with her" while his men were still swine, or that Penelope believed in Odysseus, just like John and Molly believe in Sherlock). I cannot say when the next update will be, but I promise that I will finish this story.

To those who are waiting, I commend your patience, and I sincerely hope that this chapter makes up for it. And with that, the warning for sexy times is now here! To those who have reviewed, I smile at every new one. Seriously. Thank you so much for sticking with me and being patient. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock Holmes, the rest of the world would never see him Not mine.

8. Shopping

Valentine's Day was coming. Quickly. Far, far, far too quickly for Sherlock Holmes. This was the first year that he had had a girlfriend who would, no doubt, expect at least a present. It wasn't that Sherlock didn't enjoy buying things for Molly; on the contrary, he quite enjoyed the look of surprise that would pass over her face and the following admiration for said gift. On the night of their first date, he had found a necklace with a magnifying glass charm. Molly had loved it then and now she hardly ever took it off. He had bought several outfits and shoes for her when he needed her to look a certain way for a case that he was bringing her on. As much as she loved her Jimmy Choos, he knew that even the best pair wouldn't do for her.

So it was that he found himself in a department store on February 13th, presentless and rather clueless as well. He had looked through the jewelry displays; he had tried various forms of chocolate from around the world; he had even considered dressing up as the Doctor again, just for the reaction that she had when he did that. It was at this point that he saw the display for several CDs' which had songs "For that Special night" on them. He picked up one to see a list of the cheesiest list of love songs. Barry White, Celine Dion and a host of other idiotic artist filled the playlist. Then the inspiration hit. He knew exactly what to get Molly for Valentine's Day.

Molly was nervous. Sherlock had told her to keep the evening of Valentine's Day free, and so she had. She had also purchased his present. She wasn't sure if she could really call it that, but it was something at least. He hadn't told her what they were doing, and to be honest, she was worried he had got a case and totally forgot V Day. Still, she had kept the evening free and was awaiting his text to inform her of their plans for the evening. Trying to keep her mind off of the overhanging text, she threw herself into her work.

She had her hands buried in Mr. Gilmore's chest cavity when she heard her phone go off. She quickly dropped the heavy heart back and threw off her gloves. She knew it was terribly unprofessional of her, but she was so nervous for tonight, so she had an excuse. She might be little miss perfect but not when it came to Sherlock Holmes. As she was washing off her hands, she heard her phone go off again. Molly went to her desk and pulled out her phone.

7 PM, Baker St. S.

I'm making dinner. S.

Molly grinned at her phone. She couldn't help it. As nervous as she was, she remembered that this was Sherlock. They had been dating for several months now, and had developed a comfortableness with each other. They had yet to actually have "the sex," as she had labeled it in her mind, but they were very accustomed to one another. She was planning on the event to occur tonight which was the cause of her nerves, not Sherlock's cooking or even seeing him tonight.

Sounds good. Can't wait! xxxM

She used her key to get into 221B Baker Street and went up the stairs. The door was open and she could smell something delicious coming from the kitchen. She hung up her coat by the door and walked into the see Sherlock in an apron, stirring something on the stove. Molly smiled and wrapped her arms around her boyfriend. She kissed his neck and sighed. "It smells lovely darling," she said softly. Sherlock smiled.

"I hope you're hungry," he replied.

"Mmhmm. Just had a bag of crisps for lunch since I knew I was getting your expert cooking tonight. Also, since when do you cook?" she asked.

Sherlock moved from her embrace to stir something on the back of the range. "I've always been able to cook, I just choose not to. However, I figured, and read online, that it would be much more romantic if I were to make our dinner. Also, what are 'bonus points' and how exactly do I earn them and what exactly do I get and how many do I have to have in order to redeem them for something?" he asked as he turned to her with a perplexed look on his face.

Molly laughed. "I wouldn't worry too much about 'bonus points.' They're not actual points, in fact, I'm not really sure how to best explain them. But I certainly do appreciate you cooking for me," she said with a smile, moving to stand to the side so that he could work. A frown remained on Sherlock's face as he continued to struggle to understand what these mysterious points were.

Molly moved to pour wine for both of them as Sherlock began plating up their dinner. Sherlock didn't drink wine or other alcohol nearly as often as Molly did, but he would join her in a glass of wine upon occasion. She knew that he would drink with John sometimes too, though never ever when he was on a case.

The couple sat down at the table which had been cleared of all microscopes and experiments. Sherlock had made pasta with an excellent sauce and picked out a great red wine to go with it. He knew the types that Molly liked and was usually fine with drinking what she liked. Over dinner they discussed the latest experiments in the lab and the autopsy that Molly had done earlier that day. One thing that made Molly so very happy about being with Sherlock was that she could speak freely about her day with him and he never became disgusted or asked her not to talk about it. Previous boyfriends, and even Jim, had turned squeamish when she had launched into a retelling of her day and what had happened. Instead of being disgusted, he usually ended up asking for more details than were necessarily appropriate, but it was a nice change for Molly to be able to share her day with someone.

As they made their way through dinner and onto desert (chocolate covered strawberries filled with cream), the two migrated onto the rug in front of the fire. Molly was about to grab her bag and go change when Sherlock stood up and picked up his violin. She frowned as she watched him move in front of the window, holding it, ready to play. "I thought you would enjoy this more than a gift that you don't want or need," he said softly, lifting his bow. Molly smiled as he began to play.

It wasn't long before tears came to her eyes as she realized what he was playing. He had adapted "As Time Goes By" to the violin and had created a concerto around it. She could hear strains from other melodies that she loved, but it was all focused on the main theme of the song. Sherlock had closed his eyes and was moving as he played; to Molly, it was one of the most beautiful sights. She had forced him to watch Casablanca several weeks ago, and as much as he had protested it and had focused on her for the entire film, it was clear that he had picked up on her enjoyment of the song.

When he drew out the last strains, she stood up and went over to him. His eyes were still closed but his arms had dropped the violin and bow on the chair. She stood up on her tiptoes and gently pressed her lips on his. Bringing her hands up to rest on his shoulders, she smiled and spoke. "That was the best present that you could have ever given me," she whispered. "Stay right here, and I'll go get yours. It might take a mo', but it'll be worth the wait, I promise." With one last peck, she left him standing by the window and picked up her large tote, in which his present was contained.

Molly took a deep breath. This was it. Now or never. She gently eased the door to Sherlock's bedroom open and went out to him. He stood looking out of the front window, onto the street below. There he observed the people passing by, taking apart the little details that he alone seemed to see. He allowed himself to become distracted to the point that he did not hear her approach, and it wasn't until her arms came around his middle that he remembered that she had been going to get her present for him. She hugged him and he could feel her small body against his back. Something was different though. Instead of the wool jumper, it felt as though she were wearing something silky, and her arms were bare.

He turned into her embrace and felt her cling on to him all the harder as she buried her face in his chest. "Molly, what on earth are you doing? And what the hell are you wearing?" he asked, really confused at this point. He heard a mumble from where she remained. "What was that?" he inquired.

She lifted her head to look up at him. "I'm giving you your present. And wearing it too, sort of," she said softly. He quirked his head to the side, trying to understand what she was saying. "Oh bloody hell," she said and stepped back.

Sherlock let out a soft, "oh." "So, I'm assuming you are my present?" he asked, a smirk creeping onto his face. She had somehow found a ribbon that was wide enough to provide coverage to all of her bits, but it still left little to the imagination. In the center was a large bow, which he assumed, if pulled, would drop the entire ensemble. "Well this is certainly a surprise."

Molly was beat red. "Listen, if you're not ready, I understand, or if you don't want me, or whatever, but I just thought-"

He cut her off. "I always want you," he said. Sherlock gently turned her face up to look at him. "Please know that everything I said to you at that damned Christmas party was untrue. I didn't see you. I couldn't see you. I was wrong in my observations. Your lips are perfect. Your breasts are more than adequate. They have taken up quite a space in my mind palace," he said with a smile. Molly, finally feeling reassured, returned his smile and felt her insecurities fall away. She knew that Sherlock wouldn't have stayed with her if he was bored. The man couldn't stay with anything if he was really bored, and for as much as she saw him, he could and did see her.

(M rating starts here!)

With that, Sherlock bent down to kiss her once more. This time his hands roved over her satin clad skin, gently touching and feeling everywhere she had wrapped the bow. Molly reveled in his touch. She could feel him exploring her and trying to catalogue how she felt. They had made out. They had slept in the same bed. They had even had a few grope sessions, but this was the farthest they had gone and Molly was ready for so much more. She hadn't wanted to push Sherlock, as much as she had wanted him from the moment he consented to be hers, but now she could tell that they were both read and she was doing waiting.

His mouth on hers became greedier, moving to her cheeks and neck. Molly lolled her head back, enjoying the attention he was paying to that particular erogenous zone. Suddenly, she felt his hands come to rest on her bow. The outfit, if it could really be called that, relied on that bow to hold it together. Without it, Molly would be left stark naked, and, while that was the end goal, she wasn't quite ready to be so in the living room. In tandem with her thought, she heard Sherlock mumbled against her throat, "bedroom."

The two made their way there, slowly, exchanging kiss after kiss on their way. When he had her in the room, he quickly closed the door and broke away from Molly to remove his own clothing. As he sat on the bed to remove his shoes, Molly came up behind him and began to undo the buttons that barely kept his shirt together. As much as she loved his tight shirts, she was craving the alabaster skin underneath. She pulled off the covering and began to run her hands over his smooth chest.

Though the room was lit only by the bedside lamp, she could still see the scars which dotted his chest. While being a consulting detective was mostly about using logic and deduction, she knew that there was a physical element to it that Sherlock craved. As she moved her hands over his muscled arms, she could feel the scar tissue and the marks near his elbow. When she had faked his death, she had had to look at his medical records. It was from there that she found out that he had used cocaine, but that he had been able to quit simply by using his mind. Still, even the miraculous mind of Sherlock Holmes could not erase the marks of a needle. Feeling a spark of worry for the man she loved, Molly bent her head down to gently kiss the inside of his elbow.

When she straightened up, she realized that he had frozen as she had been administering her osculation. "Are you alright love," she asked, concerned that they were moving too fast. She gently eased her arms around him in a hug. He nodded and lifted his hands to hold on to hers as she sat behind him.

"You know I can return the sentiment," he said, quietly. Molly wasn't sure what to say, but before she could say that it was ok or fine, he spoke again. "I enjoy seeing you, especially in the lab. I like it when you make logical deductions, even if they aren't always correct. You smell like chemicals and roses, two of my favorite things. Sometimes, when I see you, or hold you, or think about you, it feels like my heart stops beating, just for a moment. I don't know how to qualify these feelings, these emotions. I don't know what to do with them, but I do know that I need you. Desperately." At that, he turned around. All he had on were his boxers. Boldly, he reached out and grasped the bow. "Are you certain," he asked, looking into her face. He saw that her eyes were a bit teary looking, but she nodded, rather enthusiastically.

"Yes, oh so much yes," Molly replied. With that, Sherlock pulled at the bow, revealing all of her to him. Before she could think, he pounced on her. While pulling the ribbon away from them, he leaned her back on the bed and began kissing down her throat. His hands made their way to her breasts, gently cupping and touching at first, but soon his fingers began to pinch and focus in on her nipples, making them hard and pointed. Molly let out a soft moan as his mouth moved from her neck to one breast, kissing and sucking his way until the entire areola was in his mouth. The sensation caused her to grasp his hair with her hands as the feelings overwhelmed her.

After paying the other peak equal attention, Sherlock's mouth moved over her stomach, placing kiss after kiss over the surface. Molly's head arched back as she felt him begin to nose her mound. She had thought about getting it waxed or shaving it, but she had never done it and honestly had no desire to do so. His hand wove its way through the coarse, dark hair and pulled. Her legs had long ago opened for the man, and he kneeled between them, slowly kissing up her thighs.

Just when she though that she would no longer be able to contain herself, she felt his mouth move to her center. He began licking and sucking and teasing her with tongue and finger. Her hands curled tighter in his hair as she felt her orgasm approach. At the moment where she just needed a little push, she felt two of his digits enter her and curl. That was all she needed. Molly let out a breathy moan as her hips bucked up against his mouth. As she came down from her high, she looked at the man who was grinning from between her thighs. "Did you know that you taste delicious," he asked. All she could do was sigh, as she flopped her head back down.

"Sherlock, you said you were a virgin. Where the hell did you learn to do that?" she inquired.

"I am capable of using the internet and performing research. Plus, your body gives off certain signs when you enjoy something, and the noises you indicate are rather helpful. Really, it's rather an elementary science," he said, moving up her body and kissing her. She could still taste herself on his lips, but it was more erotic than she thought that it would be. Molly began trying to turn him over so that she might have her turn at exploring his body, but he stopped her and spoke. "As much as I would love some more foreplay, I highly doubt that I will be able to last."

Molly giggled. She resumed kissing him, but moved one of her hands from his hair to the waistband of his boxers. Sliding the fabric off of him, she reached for his length and began pumping it with her hand. Clearly going down on her had given him an immense amount of pleasure as he was hard as a rock. His breathing had really picked up as she continued her ministrations. "Please, Molly," he spoke. "Please, I need you." With that, he looked into her eyes as she nodded. Sherlock reached over to the night stand and pulled out a condom. Quickly rolling it on, he looked at her once more. As she nodded, he sheathed himself in her fully.

She let out a loud moan. As much enjoyment as could be derived from an orgasm, the feeling of being full, and with Sherlock nonetheless, was overwhelming. Slowly, he began thrusting, hitting her in just the right spot. Molly tried to contain the pleasure that he was causing within her, but she just couldn't. When Sherlock leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I want to hear you. I want to hear everything I am doing to you," she allowed her inhibitions to give way and said his name in a moan.

They moved together, and before long, both felt their approaching orgasm. Molly hooked her legs around his hips so that he could drive deeper into her. With the change of angle, she was pushed over the edge and came with his name on her lips. After a few more thrusts, Sherlock followed her and shouted her name.

The two lay, spent and content in each other's arms. Molly gently ran her fingernails up and down his back, as if he were a cat. He let out an appreciative groan and rolled over, pulling out of her. She gasped at the feeling of emptiness inside of her, but was soon pulled into his arms. Resting her head against his chest, she sighed contentedly. "Happy Valentine's Day, my love," she whispered.

Sherlock kissed her forehead and pulled her tighter. "Happy Valentine's Day, my Molly."